Troth
by Aliathe
Summary: When introducing himself, the pale, ghostlike boy simply says three things. "My name is Kuroko Tetsuya. I am not a very good liar. I value promises." [au] [gen] [in which kuroko is a spirit of sorts and does not take kindly to oath-breakers, but nevertheless, still loves his friends (for a given value of 'love')]
1. skyhair and sandskin

_**Summary:**_

 _When introducing themselves, the first thing he says is, "My name is Kuroko Tetsuya." The second thing he says is, "I am not a very good liar." And the third thing he says is, "I value promises." [AU] [In which Kuroko is a spirit of sorts and does not take kindly to being betrayed, or having oaths broken.]_

 _ **Disclaimer:**_

 _I do not own Kuroko no Basuke, or the cover image._

* * *

 **[13]**

Teiko's basketball team is large.

Admittedly, _too_ large for all of them to know each other by name, if they aren't in the same string.

But their coach occasionally proposes such 'bonding' activities nonetheless, because a. he is a hopeless idealist in some ways, b. he is a selective sadist in other ways, and c. the principal is always hounding after him to 'improve moral' for publicity (and thus financial) purposes.

Thankfully, the activities usually cluster around the first waves of new applicants, and are relatively simple and painless, if dreadfully boring, 'sit-in-a-circle-for-a-meet-'n-greet' activities.

"Alright. Full name, one fact about yourself, and one thing you value. Short and simple, please, we've got to get past around 50 of you, I think, although I bet at least half of you will drop out by next week," Kouzou Shirogane announces more or less professionally, making sure to mutter the last statement a bit quieter, and then gestures to the first-year sitting on his left

(Him being the only one with the privilege of a chair, by virtue of being the only one who is a coach.)

One of the gyms has been specially cleared out for this 'first-day introduction' activity, with the new appliers sitting in a relatively circle-like circle.

Most of them first-years, as it's exponentially more difficult to get anywhere when one applies as a second- or third-year, since they've missed a year or two of possible practice.

A first-year, dressed in a loose cotton T-shirt and knee-length mesh shorts of white and gray, his clothes giving the impression of dwarfing his bird-like bones and emphasizing their thinness, listens quietly to the others speak, awaiting his turn patiently.

As far as he knows, he has never forgotten anything he's heard, and rarely is his patience lost.

When it comes to him, he startles more than a few people with his sudden 'appearance,' on account of his naturally low presence.

(It is low because even if his form is human, humans automatically pass over him, their blindness to the inhuman translating to a blindness of what is really there.)

He knows, observing their microexpressions and feeling out their emotions, that they do not think highly of his potential basketball ability.

They believe that he will be part of the 50% who cannot take the pressure and pain, based solely on their impression of his skinny body and weak musculature and blank face, his sky-painted shoulder-length strands tied back into a neatly combed ponytail, his straight back and folded hands and trimmed nails and crossed legs with pristine chalk-clean sneakers underneath.

Perhaps he will take pleasure out of proving them wrong, but it is far more likely, he privately thinks, that he will take nothing at all.

Oh, well.

"My name is Kuroko Tetsuya," he says, calmly and steadily, maybe _too_ steadily, and crossing over into serious and solemn.

He still isn't very practiced at discerning the difference, despite his 12 years of nothing but practice.

"I am not a very good liar," he says next, after pausing for the assumed appropriate amount of time between introductory sentences, based on the averaged number of milliseconds those gone before him had used.

And it is a true statement, because Kuroko Tetsuya has never ever lied in his existence.

He cannot.

"I value promises," he finishes finally, a bit of unintentional emphasis pressing down on his words, a surprisingly human instinct that he is content to have learned.

Emphasis means adding importance, correct?

And promises (oaths, contracts, deals, agreements) are indeed quite valuable to him.

Without promises, the being known as Kuroko Tetsuya would not exist.

.

.

.

 **[1]**

It awakens.

The first thing it sees is sky.

It is colorless, it is empty, but it has form.

It knows, somehow, that it must fill that form.

So it takes the sky and takes the color and fills up the emptiness as best as it can.

The second thing it sees is sand and pebbles.

Now it is less colorless than before, but though it has sky-painted hair and sky-mirrored eyes and sky-rimmed lashes, everything else is blank whiteness.

It reasons, logically, that it must continue filling that form until the form is completely filled, intrinsically knowing that it must perform this task before it will receive answers.

So it takes the sand and pebbles and fills up its curiously firm flesh and its curiously hard nails.

Its form is now colored, and thus, it receives answers.

Ah.

It remembers, now, what it is, who it is, where it is, when it is, how it is there, and why it is there.

It remembers many things, and sets about shuffling those memories into a coherent order.

 _What it is:_

It is a spirit.

Or maybe a demon.

The memories are not very forthcoming on that subject, as apparently, it itself has never been quite sure.

It is still a spirit/demon, albeit one put into the vessel of a male human toddler.

 _Who it is:_

It eats dreams and nightmares and makes offers for payment, delivering great deeds done with terrible power, fueled by great prices at terrible costs.

Ambitious humans, mostly, but it is a moderately well-known and respected being, known for level-headed clarity, and sometimes sought out by other beings as an advisor or judge of sorts.

 _Where it is:_

It is standing on a grassy hilltop looking down at sand and pebbles by a small stream.

In the human realm, for only in the human realm does the sun shine so constantly and the sky is so clear and the wind does not carry the giggling whispers of sylphs.

 _When it is:_

It is around the 2000s in the human calendar, the last it remembers, and likely it is still around the 2000s now, as only the very high-ranked spirits and demon and angels may turn back or turn forward time

Although it is always possible that the cause of this situation has placed it into a different world within the human realm, as timelines often differ from world to world.

 _How it is there:_

It has been put there into a blank vessel by a demon acquaintance.

 _Why it is there:_

It made a favor exchange with the demon acquaintance in order to gain aid in placating a higher-ranked irate spirit who had not appreciated his judgement.

The demon acquaintance had, in turn, requested that it be put into the human realm to live out the life of a human, for his personal entertainment.

It, harboring a neutral attitude towards the proposal, had agreed.

The demon acquaintance promised to take care of the legal matters concerning his existence in the human realm, as he (demons frequently choose genders, a curious quirk of 'independence', although they reproduce asexually) spends more time among humans making demon deals, and also agreed that 'living a human life' just meant experiencing human experiences at a natural rate for humans, which means it can use its powers if it so wishes, although of course they will be somewhat limited by his human vessel when within the human realm.

And it knows the demon will uphold his promise, since every spirit/demon/angel knows the consequences of failing to go through with a deal, which is what a promise counts as.

It, being used to telling only the truth, also knows how to lie without lying, since spirits/demons/angels cannot outright lie, and being the de facto advisor/judge of the spirit realms, it also knows how to find a loophole in every agreement.

Thus, it knows that the demon implied its human vessel would not follow it if it crossed over to the spirit realms.

But it thought the proposal sounded like an interesting idea, and agreeing to it is a promise all in its own, so it decided before the transplantation to stick to the spirit of the agreement, more or less.

(No pun intended; it freely admitted it had a very poor sense of humor, which, as something freely admitted, cannot be a lie.)

It is about time it got to understand humans better, so perhaps it should think of this as a vacation from its normal duties, it reasoned.

With a thought, rather than merely an inclination, it faded out of the visibility spectrum, and set out to explore the area.

Probably, it should start referring to itself as 'he,' so as to conform to the human practice of assigning definite genders.

A weary and tiresome observance, in its opinion, but a necessary one to 'blend in.'

That . . . might take some practicing.

It frowned rather clumsily, feeling the unaccustomed _weight_ of flesh and the momentary pause required to translate a formerly spiritual and mental action into a physical one.

Although, by the looks of its human vessel's maturity, it will have plenty of time to learn and cultivate human tics before testing its prowess in interacting with other humans in human society.

It smiled, with noticeably less clumsiness.

.

.

.

* * *

 ** _#_**

 ** _#_**

 ** _I wanted to finally clear this story out of my Google Docs, in all of it's disjointed, unfinished glory, so I'll probably be working on finishing this. It's all in 'opposite-time', and the last chapter will make the 'ends' meet. Kinda. There's also a sequel to this, 'Wroth,' which I have kinda-planned and also clogging up my Google Docs._**

 ** _But until then, Troth should update more or less regularly, unlike my other stories (which I am so sorry-not-sorry about not updating)._**

 ** _What can I say? Undertale and AO3 have ensnared me for the past few weeks._**

 ** _(There's a tentative promise about me finally updating some of my stories, though . . .)_**

 ** _#_**

 ** _#_**

 ** _-Please Review.-_**


	2. a child on your doorstep

_**Summary:**_

 _When introducing themselves, the first thing he says is, "My name is Kuroko Tetsuya." The second thing he says is, "I am not a very good liar." And the third thing he says is, "I value promises." [AU] [In which Kuroko is a spirit of sorts and does not take kindly to being betrayed, or having oaths broken.]_

 _ **Disclaimer:**_

 _I do not own Kuroko no Basuke, or the cover image._

* * *

 **[13]**

Tetsuya is calm and composed and collected when he enters the given room for the Friday Basketball Club introductory session, despite the knowledge that there is definitely a plot concerning himself.

A plot revolving around the ringleader known as Akashi Seijuurou, a plot whose 4 out of 5 conspirators are guaranteed to be at this session today.

(Momoi has professed a desire to be the manager, and thus is probable to seek out the coach at later time to discuss specifics, although it is always possible for her to choose to sit in on the session in order to get a better grasp of how things work, and which players to mark down as rising talents.)

Which means that he will most likely be loosely surrounded on all sides by what he has come to think of as 'Akashi's group,' since tight confrontation is too straightforward for Akashi's character.

Akashi, he knows, is the type of person who likes to watch their eventual victim wriggle around in confusion and mounting desperation first.

Indeed, the redhead heir greets him with a coy tilt of the head, nodding in acknowledgement with an enigmatic smile playing at his lips and clinical calculations crystallizing in his eyes.

On anyone else in their school, the resulting expression would look terribly affected, like a stagy, cagy failure at flirting.

But Akashi is most definitely not viewing him with any sort of romantic inclination, and Tetsuya suspects that if he ever did, he should be very suspicious of the highly likely reasoning of the redhead aiming to gain a psychological or emotional foothold on him.

(Besides, he would never be able to return his hypothetical romantic inclination, nor, truly, return any other human's.)

So he nods back, carefully blanking his face, and settles into a chair near the door of the classroom they are gathering in, presumably to go over a few basic rules before hustling into the gym, or outside on school grounds, to run some drills, so that the coach and senior members can take some names to keep an eye on.

The chair is close to an exit, away from the window, near the front where the coach and senior members will stand, and, most importantly, several rows and seats away from the dangerously determined and sharp-eyed Akashi.

He counts it as a good, safe choice.

Although, really, he hopes Akashi will back off soon, because being _too_ determined and _too_ sharp is really rather dangerous.

(Dangerous to the _determined_ , that is; _so sharp he cuts himself on his words and scrapes himself on his thoughts, while his theories slash him wide open_.)

Evidently, though, even as he hopes that, he understands it is ultimately futile.

It is Akashi's nature to pursue what interests him, relentlessly, until he has captured and cornered and completely controlled it.

(Just as it is Tetsuya's nature to refuse to be pinned down.)

Then he hears a subtle swish of fabric, feels a presence moving closer, and sighs.

Of _course_ Akashi would choose to change seats in order to keep him within arm's reach.

It's a psychological intimidation tactic as much as it is a physical one; human instinct decides as much, remembering long-forgotten memories of fireshine eyes circling in the dark, closing in on cold stone caves.

Tetsuya almost feels a stirring of amusement.

 _Human_ instinct.

Close to wordplay, maybe?

Ah, or is that just his poor sense of humor again?

More people file into the room- _no_ , he revises, _'file' is too neat and orderly of a connotation._

More people tromp into the room- _that's better_ , Tetsuya thinks, and allows his mental narration to proceed.

-and choose seats, mostly around those they know.

(The ones he'd identified from the weekful of 'coincidences' as co-conspirators- Midorima, Murasakibara, and perhaps Aomine -also tromp into the room, but merely nod in recognition [in subservience?] to Akashi, nod in recognition [in apology?] to Tetsuya, and then settle in seats away from them. Leaving him to conclude that they'd probably been ordered by Akashi to leave them alone.)

They talk and laugh and distract themselves from the feelings of anxiety and apathy and alertness that swell invisibly around them, betraying their true intentions.

Without quite knowing why, they also avoid the general area of the door, eyes automatically veering away once they get too close, mind working to provide acceptable excuses for such an action.

Humans are the best at self-delusion, particularly concerning things and matters that don't fit neatly into their preconceived notions of normality.

Tetsuya is rather appreciative of such a trait.

He can easily see the usefulness in it.

Unfortunately, Akashi is just _other_ enough to subconsciously glimpse Tetsuya's _otherness_ , though so far that has only lead to him taking an interest in him.

An interest which is perfectly justified through use of aforementioned self-delusion.

 _'But maybe I should've given him less justification to work with,'_ Tetsuya privately admits.

Regardless, doubts will not change the past, nor this current undesirable scenario.

Which . . . isn't exactly very clear as to what the problem _is_ , only that it is a problem that is beginning to annoy him.

Ignoring the problem, like how he dealt with most of his past problems, hasn't worked all week, but it hasn't escalated it either, so Tetsuya returns to the familiar action.

Being ignored lends great experience to the reversal of ignoring others.

. . . Akashi Seijuurou apparently doesn't take well to being the one ignored, however.

He waits, more or less patiently, throughout the coaches' introduction, which Tetsuya studiously watches, and, subsequently, commits to memory.

(He concludes that Midorima, Murasakibara, and Aomine were _definitely_ ordered by Akashi to stay away from him for this session; all the better to persuade him into agreement, though hotter-headed Aomine frowns and glances over at them every so often, clearly desiring to know what was so special about Tetsuya, in contrast to Midorima's studious indifference and Murasakibara's dutiful disinterest.)

A very slight pressure steadily increases; he eventually figures out, halfway through the dark-haired, sharp-eyed captain's instructions, that it is from Akashi's intensified . . . for lack of a better term, 'presence.'

Tetsuya nullifies it with an idle thought before it can become distracting, and, unlikely though it is, cross over into irritating.

When the captain orders them outside for basic assessment drills, Akashi is a constant figure by his side.

By now, he's fairly certain that those who can see him, if only briefly, think they are friends.

Does Akashi even have friends?

(Do his subservient acquaintances of the Three [Akashi and the Three, is what Tetsuya's titling them for now] count as 'friends'?]

Tetsuya doesn't believe he himself has any, at any rate-

 _Well, no_ , he mentally amends, because of _course_ he has Shigehiro.

Shigehiro, who would be so overjoyed whenever Tetsuya slips up and forgets to intentionally call him by his family name; which is what motivates him to do so, actually, in another example of his poor sense of humor.

"You seem happy. Do you enjoy basketball?" Akashi, perceptive as always, catches his small smile.

Smoothing out his face, though inwardly content with having succeeded in creating indeliberate facial expressions, Tetsuya performs a textbook-perfect tear drop before returning to the back of the shooting line, accustomed to the sudden burst of general startlement at his 'sudden appearance'.

When the redhead is back in hearing distance, having sank his own shot with brutally efficient speed, he gives him a steady, slightly disapproving look.

"Please do not state the obvious, Akashi-kun. My answer has not changed."

"It never hurts to confirm," Akashi merely excused, shamelessly unapologetic.

These 'confirmations' happened often over the next hour and a half of dribbling (which looked odd from the outside, with Akashi seemingly practicing alone, until Tetsuya slid in and out of visibility), passing (Tetsuya's area of specialty, where his presence, so high that it registered as low, came particularly in handy), and other partner activities that Akashi never failed to immediately claim Tetsuya for.

It's more convenient than aggravating, so he allows it, and doesn't actively 'vanish' from Akashi's awareness like he knows he can.

The dancing-around-the-question 'confirmations' are more aggravating, really.

.

"Is there a reason for your refusal?" Needling, wheedling.

"Yes." Blunt.

"You seem to like the sport itself." Hinting.

"I do." Curt.

"Why don't you dedicate yourself to something you have so much potential for?" Edging carefully.

"Why should I?"

.

The one time he answers a 'confirmation' question with another question, Akashi pounces mercilessly on the opportunity to launch off a very convincing spiel, sounding like an advertiser or marketing manager, only with far more charisma.

Tetsuya is used to overwhelming charisma, however, and has long since learned to counter with unyielding stoniness.

He falls back onto the short-as-possible-without-being-impolite-but-being-totally-passive-aggressive answers, until the other discards his increasingly less subtle pitches in favor of a direct demand, right at the end of the introductory session when it's just the two of them left in the classroom.

"Join the basketball club, Tetsuya."

Oh.

So that's what the plot was.

He'd suspected, but . . .

This entire week of trailing him throughout club introductions?

That was some dedication.

Still . . .

"It will take far more than you and your mind games to intimidate me, Akashi Seijuurou," he tells him, eyes colder and more focused than he's been in a while, the normal thinly spread-out woolliness of his mind clumping together in a slight concentration. "I would be ashamed if I truly was."

He walks out the door, turns the corner, and shifts out of sight.

Akashi Seijuurou is left uncertainly victorious, but certainly alone.

("Well?" Midorima asks, impatient, once their unofficial leader reaches them outside.

He is silenced with a frosty _look_ and a cold smile.

Murasakibara, unperturbed, keeps crunching away on his chips, and Aomine merely whines unoffensively something about picking up Satsuki from some meeting with the coaches.

Akashi walks in front, and they fall in line, with- unbeknownst to them -room for one more behind and one more beside.)

.

In the end, Tetsuya concedes.

His careful, faint, vaguely hazy signature is marked on the forms for applying as a Teiko basketball team member, the lines just firm enough to seem authentic.

Basketball, hm?

It carries the heady promise of dreams, big dreams, ambitious dreams, innocent dreams.

Shigehiro will be ecstatic his 'best friend for life' has decided to play for a cause beyond 'because you like it, Ogiwara-kun, and I like you'.

(And he _had_ been getting rather tired of his bland diet lately . . .)

Tetsuya stops for a vanilla milkshake before he heads home to call his only friend.

.

.

.

 **[1]**

Learning the very basics of blending in as a human child takes it- him -a day of invisibly and intangibly drifting around a two mile radius until it- he -is content with his knowledge.

For now, it would do, anyway.

The radius around the grassy hilltop and pebble-lined stream contains more grass and a copse of cherry blossom trees, not to mention the miscellaneous vegetation and wildlife.

It is... disconcerting to find everything so lackluster and predictable, unlike the illusionary grass and treasure-hoard hilltops and kappa-infested streams he is used to, where 'wildlife' are often disguised animal spirits, and otherwise familiars or magical creatures that can kill you and curse you and cure you of all your ailments in at least fifteen different ways.

(Not that any would deign to do so without reason or justification; pettiness is rampant among the Folk, but not spontaneity.

Those with long existence-spans realize, more so than others, that history truly does repeat itself.

There are only so many different ways to imagine a concept, and for anything that needs imagination, the Folk tend to require humans to do so for them.)

With a sense of vague disappointment aimed at it- himself, it dawns upon _him_ that _he_ has been spending far too much time in the spirit realms of late, caught up in his affairs, stretched tight helping others and gaining little except satisfaction and perhaps the occasional favor in turn.

Favors are the currency of the spirit realms, for what need do they have of gold and silver and diamonds and paper printed in colorful numbers, when they can snap their metaphysical fingers and conjure up mountains of those with a thought?

But favors, bound by a Folk's word... well, their words are binding, as they cannot lie, and to betray a promise is worse than unplanned murder.

Indeed, promise-betrayers are the ones who are planned for murder.

Behind the roughly oblong patch of 'park,' he sees orderly rows of human dwellings, like much smaller, basically identical versions of a minimalist home of a symmetry spirit.

His own spirit home is everywhere and anywhere and nowhere, as he is welcomed everywhere, can go anywhere, and yet stays nowhere for more than a few sleep-times, the spirit realms' strange sense of time meaning that they measured it by wake-times and sleep-times and, for the more particular, meal-times.

He had thought it to be freeing for him not to be tied down and attached to a certain spot, but now, contained into a human vessel, although only for a couple of human hours so far, he is finding it very easy to grasp the instinctual human possessiveness, and uncertainty, and need for control.

There are possessive Folk, of course, but he's always been the rather passive sort, keeping quiet and observing cautiously and never, ever forgetting a thing.

Folk, a classification that covered the neutrally-aligned spirits, the dark-aligned demons, the light-aligned angels, and the miscellaneous outliers that fell between, always know _how and who and what and why and where_ they are, even if they might not know _'when'_ they are.

It's an intrinsic Folk trait.

It explains a lot about their nature.

Humans, on the other hand, seem to be in an eternal quest to seek answers to those questions.

It's an intrinsic human trait.

It explains a lot about their nature.

In conclusion, the idea of entertaining musings on his possible existential crisis is an entirely alien concept, one which he is not going to exercise.

A human vessel though he may be in, but he- it -is a spirit in mind, and in the hypothetical 'heart.'

He is going to remain calm and cool-headed and clinical, the three traits landing him the role of spiritual decision-decider, and he is going to proceed logically based on information gathered.

Therefore, he rematerialized, produced suitable clothing for human children around his age and height, and went to the two-story, sandy-painted, sky-trimmed house that sported a tidy picket fence, a tended herb garden, a sky-draped mailbox, and the lingering spiritual energy of his demon acquaintance.

.

Sorano Nami and Kuroko Yoichi, a contentedly married business-minded couple, albeit busy and young and childless, open the blue front door.

They are greeted with the sight of a slender toddler with dispassionate eyes and tousled hair the same blue as their door, dressed in a short-sleeved shirt and shorts and shoes that looked as fluffy and cottony and blank as the clouds dotting the heavens above.

"Hello," it says, shaping its mouth carefully like it is still adapting to speaking, gender indeterminable by the clothes.

(Typical, as children before the age of three all appear to be more or less androgynous.)

"Father," it continues, unmoving, "and mother."

.

Sorano Nami and Kuroko Yoichi, a contentedly married business-minded couple, albeit busy and young but blessed with a clever, precocious child, blink at each other and then smile at him.

"Come in, Tetsuya-kun," Yoichi welcomes, ushering the adorably poker-faced toddler inside.

"You've been wandering around the meadow again, haven't you?" Nami adds, cooing warmly.

The being now known as Kuroko Tetsuya nods stolidly, stoic.

They eat dinner together.

As a family.

Tetsuya practices his frowns and smiles and words and only forgets to breathe once.

.

.

.

* * *

 ** _#_**

 **Edited: 3/21/2016**

 **Note: Nevermind the AN underneath; I'm just keeping it for records. I'm going to just be posting whatever I have finished, _whenever_ I have it finished, so they're going to be chronologically all over the place, kinda.**

 ** _#_**

 ** _In case it wasn't clear in the last author's note, the top 'section' of each chapter for the first arc is chronologically backwards, while the bottom 'section' is chronologically forwards, and the two will meet at the end of the first arc. (The second arc isn't really an arc; it's assorted one-shots in the universe established by the first arc.) The numbers in the brackets just mean Tetsuya's age; or, rather, the age of his human body._**

 ** _Basically, if events referenced don't make sense, that's because they haven't come yet._**

 ** _(I intended for Troth to be a really long one-shot originally, which is why the chronological positioning might seem a little confusing.)_**

 ** _#_**

 ** _#_**

 ** _-Please Review.-_**


	3. the beginning of a certain thing

_**Summary:**_

 _When introducing themselves, the first thing he says is, "My name is Kuroko Tetsuya." The second thing he says is, "I am not a very good liar." And the third thing he says is, "I value promises." [AU] [In which Kuroko is a spirit of sorts and does not take kindly to being betrayed, or having oaths broken.]_

 _ **Disclaimer:**_

 _I do not own Kuroko no Basuke, or the cover image._

* * *

.

.

.

 **[13]**

The one known as Kuroko Tetsuya is currently methodically reading his way through the 600-page-thick Teiko Junior High rulebook, during the time period in which most other students are eating lunch.

Tetsuya does not to eat much, and indeed, often only eats occasionally for the experience of savoring the food.

He is alone in the Teiko library, excepting the sharp-eyed librarian rolling a cart of books to be reshelved through the aisles, briefly stopping now and then to insert a book into the correct place.

By his position sitting on a high-up stool, his back leaning against a stone wall, his arms resting in his lap, hands folded, the book lying open on the aluminum-steel alloy table, Tetsuya is at a vantage point enabling him to view all entry and exit points of the library.

Not that he needs to, as he can always sense other beings approaching by their life force, spirit energy, or lack thereof, and he believes that places have purpose.

In this case, the purpose of a library is to read, and he, accordingly, came here to do so, which he cannot do if he is busy looking at entry and exit points.

(When taking literally, he can most definitely multi-task the two, but he has been attempting to refine his metaphorical understanding lately.

Namely, recognizing it.)

Tetsuya raises a right arm, enclosed in a formfitting Teiko school uniform (despite the conspicuous lack of uniforms in his size when he'd requested one from the principal), extends his slim thumb and index finger-

-and flips the page.

He expressionlessly withdraws the arm, mostly focused on the two new pages of tiny-fonted closely-cramped lines of legal jargon.

( _'Mostly,'_ because to be the focus of all of Kuroko Tetsuya's attention is a terrible thing indeed.)

After about 30 seconds, which presumably communicates something about his reading and comprehension and thinking speed, he raises his left arm (also being a believer in equal opportunities, even for arms), and repeats the page-flipping ritual.

Fifty pages and 25 minutes later, he is close to finishing the book, and also close to finishing his lunch period.

Marking the page carefully with a worn bookmark, he closes the cover and makes a mental note to replace his bookmark soon.

"Aa," Tetsuya breathes out, eyes closed, having picked up the surprisingly fulfilling tic of adding nonsense sounds in order to express certain emotions or ideas or thoughts, and the equally surprising tic of closing one's eyes in order to improve intellectual reflection and derive philosophically deeper conclusions at a faster rate.

" _'All first-years are required to join a club, for the purpose of encouraging Teiko's competitive spirit.'_ Page 513, paragraph 8, line 5," he recites from memory, finding that, yes, it is simpler to replay information across the one-shaded blackness of eyelids, rather than envisioning it across a colorful background.

"Indeed. That is an interesting quote of yours. Do you have a particular club in mind? Do you always memorize the exact placing as well?" a smooth, tenor voice slides in, coming from directly in front of him.

"Akashi Seijuurou, it is unexpected of me to encounter you here," Tetsuya replies, not sounding very surprised at all, and opens his eyes.

It isn't unexpected of him to be at his table, in the sense that Tetsuya had sensed him coming into the library, and it is the most logical choice for him to walk over and see who presumably left a book there, as Tetsuya's sole (weak) presence in the library at lunchtime is unexpected in and of itself (when discovered by hearing his words).

In another sense, it really _is_ unexpected for Tetsuya to encounter Akashi here, because he had predicted that the red-haired heir would eat alone or with potential allies in the courtyards or rooftop, as are the typical actions of first-year students on the first day of school.

He will have to work on improving his prediction skills, then, and update his approximation of Akashi's character.

Akashi appears mildly intrigued.

"Oh? You know my name? How flattering. It seems that I am at a disadvantage, then, since I do not know yours."

Disadvantage?

His action of remaining standing instead of taking a seat is a power play, as it gives him the height advantage despite the height of the stool, forcing Tetsuya to look up slightly in order to meet his eyes.

Of course, it could simply be that he did not wish to impose upon him by assuming a chair, but that seems unlikely, judging by what his impression of Akashi's personality.

"I did not intend to flatter you," he deflects, quiet and monotonous. "I merely retain a good memory. My name is Kuroko Tetsuya, Akashi-san."

"No need to be so formal among peers, Tetsuya-kun," Akashi smiles, one he probably thinks is charming, and one that probably is charming, but Tetsuya is more detached than that, and can see beneath to the coldness and hollowness beneath.

It is mildly intriguing for him, now, Akashi's hollowness similar to his former emptiness.

Maybe 'current' emptiness.

Still...

"On the contrary, please refrain from being so informal with me, Akashi-san. I prefer Kuroko-san, Kuroko-kun if you must," Tetsuya demurs.

Sighing theatrically, Akashi concedes, "Very well, Kuroko-kun, but only if you consent to calling me Akashi-kun."

There is something subtle and stubborn and sharp lining those light-hearted jests.

He knows how to pick his skirmishes, so he thusly consents.

"Wonderful," Akashi smiles again, the sharpness receding slightly. "May I ask you once again my former questions?"

Half-tempted to answer, _"you may,"_ Tetsuya remembers _'metaphorical understanding'_ and instead says, "I am considering basketball, track, art, calligraphy, or cooking. However, I can only choose one. As I said before, I have a good memory."

"Why only one? Is it a monetary issue?"

Tetsuya feels something that might be fleeting amusement, because money is _certainly_ not an issue.

"No, it is not concern over equipment fees or club fees. I prefer to dedicate myself to one thing until I have accumulated reasonable skill and experience at it. Here, I would prefer to further improve my skill an experience, as well as have free time to pursue other interests."

"Aa," Akashi breathes out, proving that he, too, has learned the tic.

"You are very obliging with your answers," he continues, "and have not asked any returning questions. Why?"

"I believe in giving answers when given questions," Tetsuya reveals. "I ask questions when I am curious."

"Are you not curious about me?" Akashi volleys back rapidly, with a hint of bitterness that Tetsuya notes as a possible inferiority complex.

"That depends on whether or not Akashi-kun wishes me to be curious," he unemotionally explains.

Then Tetsuya's internal clock tells him it's five minutes until lunch is over.

"It is five minutes until lunch is over," he repeats, picking up his book and stepping down from the stool. "I am going to leave now, so that I may get to my next class on time. Goodbye, Akashi-kun."

Tetsuya bows politely, noticeably not saying whether or not it had been a pleasure to meet him, and turns to leave.

Right as he crosses the the threshold, Akashi calls, "I will see you again, Kuroko-kun."

He is certainly smirking, and there is a kind of definite confidence in his statement.

.

.

.

* * *

 ** _#_**

 ** _#_**

 ** _-Please review.-_**

 ** _Note: This was completed a few months before, and was copied over from Google Drive. A lot of italics are missing. The language is as formal and clinical as how I thought Troth!Kuroko would think at the time, so..._**

 ** _Also, the last chapter was edited, so now there are mentions of Midorima, Murasakibara, and Aomine at the basketball introductory meeting. Fringe references for the sake of accuracy, but still references._**


	4. setting up luck

_**Summary:**_

 _When introducing themselves, the first thing he says is, "My name is Kuroko Tetsuya." The second thing he says is, "I am not a very good liar." And the third thing he says is, "I value promises." [AU] [In which Kuroko is a spirit of sorts and does not take kindly to being betrayed, or having oaths broken.]_

 _ **Disclaimer:**_

 _I do not own Kuroko no Basuke, or the cover image._

* * *

.

.

.

 **[13]**

Before first-years at Teiko Junior High must apply for a club, they are given a 'grace period' of a week to try out different clubs in afterschool introductory sessions.

Some people are certain of a club, and spend all five days at the same one, familiarizing themselves with the club processes and senior members.

Others dabble, experiencing up to five different clubs to see which one fits them the best, or pleases them the most.

On Monday afternoon, in the one of the Home Economics classrooms, Tetsuya is calmly reading through a recipe and standing in front of an oven, surrounded by other Cooking Club hopefuls.

Mechanically measuring out exactly one pinch of salt, he adds it into his dough, observing that, if one goes by competence alone, he is probably in the top five percent, despite his thoroughly dispassionate method.

He also observes that he is one of three males in the classroom, and while he goes largely unnoticed, the tall purple-haired male stands out prominently amidst his isolated oven area, and the Cooking Club president, a slender and smiling and sweet-voiced third-year with short black hair and bright blue eyes, is being surrounded by females asking for help with their cooking abominations.

 _And it's only five minutes into the session._

Another observation is that while he is in the top five percent of competency, eighty-eight percent of the females have come solely to perform the action of 'fangirling' to the beautiful-by-societal-standards Fuji Hisoka.

After his ingredients, equipment, recipe sheet, and bowl of dough are almost knocked over for the fifth time by a rushing girl, Tetsuya shifts his items over to an oven in the purple-haired male's 'sphere of intimidation,' politely nodding to him, although he is so absorbed by measuring his sugar that he doesn't appear to notice him.

Or maybe it's his low presence.

Transferring his attention back to his relocated materials, Tetsuya tightens his neatly combed ponytail, then proceeds to add the vanilla flavoring and the chocolate chips, and remembers to preheat this new oven.

While waiting for the oven to finish climbing it's way up to 175 degrees Celsius, he observes some more.

 _Concluding observations, round two:_

 _-Fuji Hisoka is beginning to experience irritation at the fangirling females_

 _-the non-fangirling females are either shooting disgusted glances at the fangirls, or ignoring them entirely and silently finishing their recipes_

 _-these ovens are probably more expensive than the one at my house, although admittedly I do not use that oven very much, and thus have no need for a higher-quality one_

 _-the purple-haired male, upon second glance, is remembered to be Murasakibara Atsushi_

 _-Murasakibara is apparently both passionate about cooking, and also quite good at it_

 _-Murasakibara appears to be more passionate about eating, however, something he is also quite good at_

 _-the oven takes 10 minutes, 36 seconds, and 11 milliseconds precisely to reach 175 degrees Celsius from 0 degrees_

 _-as noted from Murasakibara's recipe, the ideal baking time for six vanilla chocolate-chip cookies is 13 minutes_

 _-even though the Cooking Club is called the Cooking Club, they do baking as well_

The timer on his cookies 'ding'-ed, prompting him to obediently follow protocol for removing them, even though he is capable of reaching in without gloves to remove the hot iron and not get burned.

(He is capable of reaching in without opening the door, actually.)

Placing the tray of cookies on the small block of counter-top allotted to him, he picks up the cooling cookies and transfers them to the allotted paper plate, scrutinizing them finely.

They are crisp and browned around the edges, with an assumed-to-be appealing aroma, but he is not sure if they are up to what he has begun to nickname, "the Murasakibara standard."

One way to find out, isn't there?

Turning to his neighbor, who is sliding in another two trays of cookie dough, Tetsuya patiently waits for him to close the oven door and set the timer before he speaks.

"Excuse me, Murasakibara-san," he says. "Please try my cookies and tell me what you think of them in comparison to your own. I am trying to match the quality of yours, but I believe that I am not quite there yet. Any advice for improvement is much appreciated."

Murasakibara regards him with bleary eyes, looking very tired and messy, which is his default expression.

"Ah," he yawns loudly, rubbing at his left eye with a large fist, "are you a ghost or something? I didn't see you there. I was almost going to crush you, you know, for startling me," he carries on conversationally.

Tetsuya appreciates his straightforwardness, as humans around his age tend to say things they don't mean all the time.

It is refreshing to find someone who always means what they say, or at least always says what they think they mean.

Some might call Murasakibara's temperament to be 'child-like,' but in Tetsuya's opinion, that is an improvement on 'teenager-like.'

"I know now," he replies diplomatically, offering up the plate of cookies, not minding the singe left on his bare, vulnerable, soft human skin.

Murasakibara peers down at the plate, pinches the corners of the closest cookies, and blows on it a few times to cool it down further, then experimentally takes a bite.

He swallows the rest.

"Hmm... too much sugar, too little butter, three milliliters more of milk, and melt more chocolate beforehand to add it in as a swirl in the cake," he reels off critically, eyeing him again speculatively, as if to gauge his reaction.

Tetsuya dips his head, hums thoughtfully, and says, "Thank you for the feedback. I will try again, and take into consideration your words. Would you mind disposing of the rest of this batch for me?"

Smiling faintly, Murasakibara accepts the plate easily enough, and, chewing on another cookie, adds with marginal approval, "They're still decent, though. Probably better than anyone else's in the class."

Somewhere between Tetsuya's third and fourth batch, Murasakibara asks for his name.

Between his fourth and fifth batch, Murasakibara starts addressing him by "Kuro-chin."

After his sixth batch, Murasakibara stops baking his own and just busies himself with eating Tetsuya's.

After his seventh batch, Murasakibara convinces Tetsuya to refer to him as 'Murasakibara-kun.'

After his eighth batch, Murasakibara proclaims his to be 'good,' and thus 'as close to as good as mine as you can get.'

"I have three older siblings," Murasakibara explains, nibbling at one of the 'good' batch. "And we all love food and making food so we can eat food, so I've had a lot of practice. It'll take you time to match me, Kuro-chin, and this is really quite good already. Make more for me tomorrow?"

"We are not in the same classroom, Murasakibara-kun," Tetsuya points out, unperturbed by the traditionally feminine connotations attached to make food to bring to friends and classmates.

Right now, Tetsuya would categorize Murasakibara as an acquaintance, as he is unsure if he _has_ a friend, or would know what it means in difference.

Ogiwara-kun doesn't count, as he is perhaps the human acquaintance closest to him emotionally, and has already been definitively labeled as his 'best friend.'

"Just bring them to me at lunch," he suggests.

"I prefer to spend lunch completing homework or practicing leisure skills," Tetsuya declines.

"It won't take long, Kuro-chin. And that sounds really boring. And lonely."

"I find it to be... content. I also do not know where you typically are during lunch, and I have no motivation to deviate from my routine in order to deliver something you can easily make, and make better, yourself."

"Ah, I'd be eating lunch on the rooftop with Aka-chin and Mido-chin and Momo-chin and Mine-chin. Momo-chin likes cooking, but she's really bad at it," he confides.

"Some people enjoy performing tasks solely for the delight it brings them in doing so," Tetsuya returns, feeling like he is getting the hang of the metaphorical shrug.

Exposure to all these new faces must be doing him some good in terms of behavioral progress and understanding.

"Also, I do not recognize any of those names, and the path to the rooftop is both locked and out of my way."

"Aka-chin is Aka-chin. Red hair, short, and scary, so don't call him short."

That sounds familiar, he thinks.

Red hair, intimidating attitude, around his height, name starts with 'Aka.'

Akashi Seijuurou?

"Is he Akashi Seijuurou, Murasakibara-kun?"

"Yes! You're smart, Kuro-chin," he cheerfully compliments him, crunching down on another cookie.

Tetsuya nods in acknowledgement, and then, looking at the cookies he has left, and thinking about how much time he has left in the session, formulates the vague semblances of a plan.

"Please give one of the cookies to Akashi-kun, Murasakibara. Do not tell him it came from me, though."

And then he leaves the classroom, going unnoticed by all but Murasakibara, who watches his disappearing back with a scrunched-up expression of confusion, one that quickly smoothes out into indifferent compliance.

He walks home, and contemplates baking the cookies to give to Murasakibara, like he had requested.

Then he decides against it, because he truly has no reason to go out of his way.

(No reason yet.)

.

.

.

 **[13]**

The introductory Art Club session on Tuesday is soothingly peaceful.

They sit at easels and paint, which, while normally an invitation for minor havoc, is done under the strict hawk-eyed gaze of the Art Club advisor, who is coincidentally the art teacher for third-years, and is thus used to keeping a tight rein on students looking for mischief.

Art is one of those things that Tetsuya can marginally appreciate, although the concept of 'abstract' art is utterly befuddling to him, and he is only good at painting ultra-realistic interpretations.

Even his interpretations of spirits and demons and angels are ultra-realistic; gorgeous, yes, unearthly, yes, but still ultra-realistic in a peculiarly unpinnable way.

He meets Midorima Shintarou at that session, first identifying him as the person three easels over who panicked over their neighbor getting a splash of paint on their canvas, and huffily moved to occupy the empty space next to Tetsuya, only to shriek again after being startled by Tetsuya's moving brush and quiet greeting.

They exchange names, Midorima sulkily explains Oha-Asa to him, perks up considerably when he asks about his fortune, and ends with telling him that he plans to join basketball, but Oha-Asa had told Cancers that their lucky item today is a paint palette, and that they should take an artsy class for extra good luck.

And thus, there he is.

Tetsuya asks, thoughtfully analytic, if it would be inconsiderate of him to wish him good luck as well.

Midorima flushes a vivid red, splutters incoherently for a few minutes in which Tetsuya continues to patiently paint his canvas, and finally mumbles, while refusing to look at him, that it would be nice of him to do so, though of course it didn't count, and it's not like he cared or anything.

Perplexed by those essentially contradictory statements, especially as he can clearly tell that Midorima is lying about not caring, Tetsuya attempts to clarify, "So you do not care if I do not wish you good luck?"

"No!" Midorima immediately shouts, gaining an evil eye from the advisor.

"I-I mean," he lowers his voice, "It won't have any effect, so I guess it's fine if you say so."

After studying him for a couple of intense seconds, Tetsuya feels enlightened, and concludes that Midorima is somehow embarrassed at both receiving and giving what he views as gestures of affection.

It is faster and simpler to just not correct him, so he simply nods, whispers, "good luck today," and finishes his drawing with a suitably artsy flourish, just in time for the session to end.

Dismayed, Midorima glances at his own canvas and realizes that he'd been so busy talking to Tetsuya that he'd failed to make any considerable progress on his own paintings, which remains mostly blank.

Not needing his own painting, which he had planned on storing in the 'Fireplace Fuel' box when he returned home, Tetsuya gifts Midorima his own canvas, and slips out into the exiting crowd before Midorima can do more than splutter again.

He splutters even more when he unrolls it and sees that it's an incredibly detailed painting of him talking and gesturing to something, almost like a photo, with a note on the back saying, in neat, no-nonsense script, "I picked you as my subject because out of the whole class, your hair stood out of the most. Like an emerald amid rocks. Or a neon glowstick."

Thankfully, no one is left in the classroom to witness him almost suffocate on splutters.

.

.

.

* * *

 ** _#_**

 ** _#_**

 ** _-Please review.-_**


	5. not entirely wrong

_**Summary:**_

 _When introducing themselves, the first thing he says is, "My name is Kuroko Tetsuya." The second thing he says is, "I am not a very good liar." And the third thing he says is, "I value promises." [AU] [In which Kuroko is a spirit of sorts and does not take kindly to being betrayed, or having oaths broken.]_

 _ **Disclaimer:**_

 _I do not own Kuroko no Basuke, or the cover image._

* * *

.

.

.

 **[10]**

Taking care of a pet is not as difficult as he has been lead to believe through browsing petcare instructional manuals and memoirs.

Or maybe it's because he's a spirit-bound-to-a-human-vessel and the pet in question is a hellhound.

Maybe.

Hellhounds are about human in terms of intelligence by the time they've reached adulthood, a process that is sped up or slowed down based on the ambient spirit energy of their environment and the spirit energy they feed on.

Their lifespan is technically immortal, just like all the other beings classified under 'spirits,' but that doesn't mean they're invincible, again like other spirits.

Most of them, anyway.

They imprint heavily on their masters, forming a familiar bond that boosts their strength and intelligence.

Masters are also the ones in charge of feeding them; using their own spirit energy is preferable, as it allows the hellhound to develop a closer connection, as well as 'overlaying' their own spirit energy with the master's personal spirit 'signature,' and increasing the loyalty felt.

Some never get past the death of their master, and choose to die as well (which, for an unalive being formed of spirit matter made from recycled dog souls, means being reincarnated, and perhaps even fused into a new hellhound with their memories wiped clean), but the majority recuperate with resilience and seek out new masters for a new familiar bond.

Nigou, when it was given to Tetsuya, was at the 'puppy' stage of a hellhound's maturation process, having been a mutt and a bondless one to boot, thus leaving them without a steady diet of their needed sustenance.

As he'd needed to purge the excess energy building up anyway, Tetsuya spared himself a trip across the 'divider' (-of realms, but that's too much of a mouthful for the 'modern-minded' and 'forward-thinking' spirits; essentially, the teenagers of the spirit realms) and pushed all of it into his (at the time) newly gotten pet.

For a suitable if somewhat cliche metaphor to understand how this affects a hellhound, imagine this:

There is a puddle on an endless stretch of concrete.

That puddle represents Nigou, the water molecules being their spirit energy.

The water evaporates at a marginally slower rate than it is refilled by condensation and respiration from the local atmosphere, so it grows, yes, but very, very slowly.

That is Nigou's energy being constantly used up for fuel, for shapeshifting and motion and existence, and being replenished by the ambient energy they draws in, as well as showing their rate of maturation.

(Then Tetsuya comes along as their master.)

A steady stream of aquamarine dye is aimed at the puddle, which quickly expands and expands, having no limitations posed by being in a container of any kind.

That is Tetsuya's energy fed into Nigou, and Nigou, being a mass of spirit energy who does not have a definite form (or gender), does not have definite limitations, nor will the sudden absorption of more energy force them to adapt larger forms.

The aquamarine dye swiftly colors the water, but the water is still noticeably 'water,' just... marked as aquamarine.

That is the 'signature' of Tetsuya's energy overlapping Nigou's, which is a natural response, and useful for determining ownership; the two-way connection of instinctively knowing where the other is is another perk.

Since Tetsuya is noted as a neutral spirit- a well-liked, largely respected, two-titled middle-ranker - who has declared a 'hiatus' and retreated to the human realm, there are unlikely to be any enemies after him.

Bound to a vessel, that also means that he no longer needs to expend as much energy for day-to-day usage, and can devote nearly all of it to feeding Nigou.

If he keeps up this rate of feeding for as long as it takes to finish the favor, a.k.a., an average human lifetime, he estimates that Nigou should be a rather formidable familiar by the time Tetsuya is unbound and once again an active spirit.

A force to consider and make those of his power range or less think twice about starting something, at the very least.

So, a month after first receiving Nigou, they've settled into an amiable routine, with the hellhound happy, thriving, deciding to choose a Siberian Husky-German Shepherd mix as their default shape, and just reaching adulthood with triumph.

It's also when Tetsuya introduces them to Ogiwara.

Which, in and of itself, is an event to make a footnote of, if he ever gets around to writing a memoir about his experience as a more or less human human.

.

.

.

 **[10]**

"Tsuya?" Ogiwara warbled faintly, staggering back on unsteady legs. "You know I totally love you, right? And I totally support you in everything you do, because I know you're kinda scarily brilliant and capable and poker-faced at all times, right? But please, I'm begging you here, don't make me come closer to your monster dog that's looking at me like it wants to chew me up and spit me out."

Tetsuya thought his best friend was being rather silly, and far too overly dramatic about the matter.

Even if calling Nigou a 'monster dog' wasn't entirely wrong, nor actually an exaggeration.

"Don't be ridiculous," he scolded coolly, stroking the obediently sitting and innocently staring Nigou, who was, admittedly, currently in the shape of a Husky-Shepherd whose ears, sitting down, reached the top of Ogiwara's head, and practically dwarfed Tetsuya.

Still. Tetsuya had Nigou well-trained, and felt- very faintly -hurt at how Ogiwara didn't like them.

"Nigou would never eat my friend," he continued, then clarified, "and they would never waste food by spitting any of it out."

.

Ogiwara paled further at the not-very-comforting addend, but astutely noticed Tetsuya's defensiveness and guarded injury.

His eyes softened.

"Aw, Tsuya, you know I didn't mean that I don't trust you or something. And- and it means a lot that you'd call me your friend," he smiled, touched by the gesture of affection from the usually taciturn bluenette. "But..." he chanced another glance at the steadily staring 'monster dog,' and sighed. "Oh, what the heck."

He inched forward bravely, slowly reaching out a hand to pet the intimidating mutt.

The intimidating mutt responded by yawning very widely, the better to showcase all of its pointy pristine teeth in all of their glory.

 **Intimidation +1,000,000!** was what Ogiwara heard in his head.

Tetsuya- unshakeable, socially-awkward, completely adorable and wonderful and _strange_ (in a good way!) Tetsuya -glanced out of the corner of his left eye at Nigou, blankly.

Nigou immediately backed down and snapped their jaws shut, a _meek_ rumble resounding in their throat, with a distinctly hangdog look of shame.

Ogiwara never knew that he could feel sorry for such a beast, but hey, apparently he can! You learn something new everyday, and today he learned that his best friend is scary enough to cow a monster dog with just a single look. Not even a frown, but Tetsuya was still kinda stiff with facial expressions. He was getting better by the day, and Ogiwara was assured that he was definitely helping him along very well, but...

Yeah, _really_ socially-awkward.

But back to the dog!

Who... could pull off a super convincing but kinda unnerving puppy dog look!

"Aww..." he instantly cooed and flung his arms around the furry- throat? chest? -expanse of Nigou. "Whose a good doggy? That's right, you are, boy, you are!"

A clearing of the throat- which Ogiwara taught him to do, instead of just randomly piping up from nowhere -came from Tetsuya.

"Actually," his very smart and cute best friend (who he suspected to possibly be either an alien or a robot or, the most farfetched of all, actually just a hard-to-startle human) corrected him, "Nigou isn't male."

"Good girl?"

"Nigou isn't female, neither."

The dog in question barked what he assumed to be an agreement, and wagged their tail.

Ogiwara was an accepting person, though. You had to be, to wrangle an approval out of Tetsuya, much less a friendship, or a _best_ friendship.

"Okay, so, like, no boy or girl parts? Or both? Or something like that? Cool, I'll just stick to 'they' pronouns. I would check, but, uh, they're your dog, I guess, and I kinda feel like Nigou might still take a nibble out of me if I violated their privacy like that," he confessed, nervously eyeing the too-intelligent eyes of Nigou.

"Something like that," Tetsuya agreed, but Ogiwara was already distracted again.

"Oh, hey! Nigou has your eyes! Like, not, _your_ eyes, Tsuya, but like, basically a copy! That's..." he hesitated, glanced between their faces, and hastily decided, "so cool! How'd you find a dog like that?"

"Nigou's a very special dog. They're mine," Tetsuya explained, matter-of-fact.

Yeeeaaaah. Very smart, serious, adorbs, blah-blah-blah, but also kinda really really weird? See, moments like that were what made Ogiwara think of conspiracy theories about aliens and robots.

Eh, but Tetsuya was still totally his best friend in the end, so none of that really mattered.

Ogiwara began educating Tetsuya about the use of the word "duh" for emphasis after statements like that.

He nodded along, blinked with a bit too long of a pause between them, and Nigou happily (and sedately) wagged their tail.

.

It said something about the orangette's character that he never commented on how Nigou constantly changed age, weight, height, and occasionally breed from meeting to meeting.

Nigou was just Nigou to him, and Tetsuya was just Tetsuya.

To Tetsuya, that made Ogiwara Shigehiro the very best best friend.

.

.

.

* * *

 _ **#**_

 _ **#**_

 _ **-Please review.-**_

 _ **Note: Please review in with a vote on whether or not you want the deleted, crossover version of how Tetsuya got Nigou, along with the revised non-crossover version, which will be the next chapter. The crossover version features Orihara Izaya, if that changes any minds.**_


End file.
